That Old Farmhouse

I scrapped two whole layouts this week! The rest of the week will be spent tidying up before my weekend away from the kiddies and the husband....
Yes, I'm getting a whole weekend to myself.
Well, not really for pampering or anything like that! I wish.

I'm heading to my hometown to help out my grandparents with moving off the farm and into town.  Anyone knows how big of a job that is; rifling through 30 plus years of memories and "things" is a huge deal.  I wanted to be there to experience some of it, as my favorite memories were made there.  I am an emotional nostalgic, as I like to call it, and will shed many a tear as I help to go through some things.
I realize that growing out of my childhood means never being able to hit the rewind button and experience again what I was fortunate to have around me as I grew up, but a part of my heart aches that I won't have the chance to...whether I want to or not.  I feel like the decision has been made for me because I'm not a child anymore, and never again will run loose on those 10 acres.

And I'm not just talking about the fun times growing up with all of my cousins at the farm; the skating on the dugout, listening to hours of music on the old record player, meeting for club house meetings in the fort grandpa made in the trees with cookies we snuck from the counter, and playing kick the can or fox and goose in the huge yard that's been covered in perfect white snow.  But also of the alone times I spent out there with grandma and grandpa...the absolute routine of it all was so comforting and safe without being monotonous or boring.  The smell of baked bread, tea biscuits cooking in the toaster, fresh coffee, the radio set to country 600 CJWW and already playing as I tiptoed down the stairs the morning after my sleepover...which I did whenever I could, I loved staying there that much.  Seeing grandma sitting at her little island table doing a crossword puzzle with her coffee, and grandpa coming in from the yard after just checking the hens for eggs...something he tried to make me do but I just watched. Eating porridge grandpa made for me as he seemed to do each time I stayed there.  And above it all, and surrounding all of that, was the smell of the old farmhouse...so comforting and unchanging.  The smell of home.
Yes the weekend will be bittersweet for me: leaving my kids with Mike and taking away from myself one of my favorite places to be.  Even though time has created a gap between me and the farm, with busy lives, and busy kids, I will never forget the feeling of home that I felt there, or the love I have in my heart for that old house.